Time to Move On
by Marauders Chick
Summary: Wendy's POV after they return from Neverland, the boys are all slowly forgetting about it, and Wendy reflects on how she has never forgotten Peter....another one shot! I stink at summaries....


This is a one shot (yet another one!) on how Wendy had to move on after Neverland and Peter never coming back. This is based off the movie that came out on Christmas (it was fantastic!) as I've read the book and know that he actually did come back a few times in the book.  
  
Disclaimer: If I actually did create Peter Pan, I seriously doubt I'd be writing fanfics about it. Actually, if I created Peter Pan, I'd be dead, because the story is 100 years old now ^____^  
  
After I came back home, things were as wonderful as they could be, I suppose. Considering that we were no longer in Neverland, anyway.  
  
Father kept his word and let me stay in the nursery. I stayed with John and Michael and all the other lost boys, and every night I would tell them stories.  
  
Those, to be sure, were the times I lived for. They would gather around me, their eyes rapt in attention. Sometimes, they would shout things like "Tell us about Captain Hook again Mother!" or "Tell us how Father saved Tinker Bell!".  
  
Then I would close my eyes and imagine that we were back in Neverland, and I would imagine once again his blue eyes and how I had given him my kiss (or "thimble"). "Peter.." I would whisper softly.  
  
I would feel my own eyes wetting when one of them asked me "Wendy mother, what are you whispering about?" and I would have to send them to bed, because it is improper for mothers to cry in front of the young ones.  
  
I knew that I wasn't the only one who missed it; Sometimes I would see one of the lost boys floating a little as they slept. Once, I heard John murmur the words "Tiger Lily" in his sleep. Michael would spend hours holding his bear and running his little fingers along the stitches around his neck where the Indians had sewn it.  
  
Sometimes, I would swear that I had seen a little gold light at the corner of my eye. When I turned around, there was never anything there.  
  
Whenever I saw an odd shadow, I would always run and examine it, with hope rising in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, he had lost it again, and he needed a Wendy to sew it on for him..?  
  
But it never was. Obviously, I had sewn that shadow on just a little too well.  
  
One thing that I did every single night was to open the nursery window. When I first did this, the boys would always clamor around me and together we'd search the starry skies and hope to see the form of a boy...we never did.  
  
Slowly, I was aghast to see that they began to forget. Michael lost the bear and when I offered to help find it, he wrinkled his nose and said "What, that old thing? I don't need a silly old bear!"  
  
At story time, they no longer wanted to hear stories of pirates. They wanted to hear of dragons and knights. "But- but don't you want to hear how your father threw Captain Hook's hand to the crocodile?" I would ask "No, that's silly!" they cried "Father works at a bank- he doesn't do things like that!"  
  
Finally, the very worst thing, in my mind, happened. I opened the window, and John told me "Close the window Wendy- you're letting in a draft!"  
  
Of course, I couldn't stand that. I started sobbing, and none of them understood why, even after I told them the reason.  
  
"But Wendy!" they said condescendingly "Why are you so upset about Peter Pan? He's just a story character!"  
  
This caused me to repeat the words "I do believe in fairies" half the night, just in case they stopped believing in them too.  
  
It's been five years now.  
  
Five years since I went to Neverland. Five years since I learned how to fly. Five years since I got new little brothers, and a cousin.  
  
Five years since I met him.  
  
Now I'm seventeen, and my brothers are all dignified young men. They don't live in the nursery anymore; they have bedrooms, which they feel are more suitable for the men they will soon become. They don't listen to stories anymore. They read the papers and take part in conversations about expenses and politics.  
  
I myself still live in the nursery, though it no longer is a nursery. It has become a very sensible and orderly bedroom, devoid of the toys or picture books there used to be. No matter how changed it became, the window was always left open.  
  
I, too, have grown up a bit. Aunt Millicent proclaimed long ago that I was a wonderful lady and would make a fine woman and wife (to the joy of my mother and father, who embraced me and told me I was a fine daughter as well).  
  
I suppose she is right, because tomorrow I am to be married to a fine young man who I love very much. He loves stories and children, but most importantly he loves me. I know we will be very happy together.  
  
Despite all of this, I find myself sitting by the window crying. That morning while we were talking about my wedding, my mother had suddenly asked me, quite shocked  
  
"Why, Wendy! Where is your kiss?"  
  
I hadn't said anything, but it brought everything back to me. I remembered who had my kiss- and I remembered that, though I loved my fiancée, I still love a little boy who would never grow up.  
  
I sigh. In a way, I will always love him. I will tell my children about him to be sure, but it does not do well to dwell upon it. It is time to move on.  
  
Tonight, for the first time in five years, I will sleep with the window closed.  
  
How was that? My first non Harry Potter ficlet! When I was rereading it, Coldplay came on the radio and it reminded me of the movie..*sigh* I made myself sad! I am such a wimp..Purty please review?????? 


End file.
